He didn’t want to let go of her. He felt that he would’ve drowned himself in the lake then and there if she only asked him to. Confused by her blank expression, he reluctantly released her, and followed her out of the water.
They rode through the night again and all of the next day. Dennly, and the other Valleyan, hadn’t returned the previous night, so it was only the six of them heading south down the river road. The swell of the river was so wide, that Gerard lost sight of the opposite shore that first night. He had a hard time thinking of that body of water as a river. The shoreline forced them on a south easterly course for some time. The Belly was a massive swell, but eventually, its width narrowed again, and the road resumed its place at the flowing river’s side. It was nearly full dark at that point, so Shaella stopped them for the night.
Throughout the day, Shaella hadn’t said a word to Gerard. He had watched her though. She had a firm command of the group. Cole and Flick sometimes bickered with her, but would obviously follow her to the ends of the world. Ultimately, they were all so obedient, that it seemed to Gerard that she had some sort of spell cast over them. None of them seemed weak though.
Cole and Flick were both imposing and strange. The robes they wore were split up the front and fastened together with little bone buttons painted black to match the material they were made from. Under the robes, they wore loose fitting pants and vests, made of the skin of some scaled creature that Gerard had never seen before. The scales looked small, but they were bright and glittery. The two magi wore boots decorated with more pieces of bone; they seemed too large for their feet.
Greyber kept to himself. It was clear that he would have no problem wielding the huge two-handed sword that was slung over his back.
Apparently, Seawardsmen didn’t wear clothing above the waist. At least Gerard could never remember seeing one do so. The tattoo-covered warrior wore ordinary deerskin britches, and good, Valleyan horse-hide boots, just like the ones Hyden had bought for him. Steel-plated gauntlets covered the big man’s arms, from wrist to elbow, but otherwise, he wore no armor.
Trent had looked deathly pale throughout the morning. His chain mail shirt was laid across his horse’s back, behind the saddle. Through the tear in his shirt, Gerard could tell that his wound was no longer bleeding. By evening, the man had regained some of his color. Now that the camp was set, he seemed even better, as if the light of the cook fire had finished the healing that Shaella’s magic had started. He made a jest over Greyber’s so-called road stew that caused the big man to smile through his gloom.
Gerard was so tired from the long ride, that he didn’t have time to wonder if Shaella would come to him in the night. He thought about going to her briefly, after he’d eaten a share of Greyber’s concoction, but the thought was consumed by exhaustion and the warmth of the food in his belly. Only moments after he had eaten, he fell into a deep heavy sleep.
The next morning, Shaella woke him with a kiss, but it’s sweetness was lost in the commotion of the breaking camp.
He was starting to feel as if she were ignoring him. The feeling grew stronger as the day wore on. He caught her eyeing him once, but her strange expression only caused him to worry more.
Finally, late in the day, he used the power of his ring to get her attention. He silently told her that she should come and kiss him. The wonderful feel of the ring’s magic in his veins was nearly eclipsed by her sudden appearance at his side. She guided her horse alongside of his, and then she leaned over, and kissed his cheek.
“You’re wicked,” she whispered to him. “You need not use your great magic to get a kiss from me, my young warlock. Just ask.”
He wanted to feel her against him, to smell her hair while he held her in his arms; to feel the warmth of her breath on his skin.
“When are we making camp?”
She blushed, despite herself, at the obvious undertone of the question. She thought she had distanced herself beyond such foolish feelings, but apparently she hadn’t.
“We’re not stopping,” she decided, as she said it. “We’ll ride, at least until we cross the Everflow River into Wildermont.”
His expression showed his disappointment. His look touched her deep inside, and that scared her. She was supposed to be a sorceress of the dark. She was supposed to be cold and ruthless, like her marsh-witch mother had been; like her father was. But hadn’t her mother loved once? A wicked enough thought crossed her mind. Didn’t a cat love to taunt and tease the mouse, before devouring it? Gerard could be her mouse. She leaned in close to him then, and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper.
“We will be able to lodge at an inn when we reach Castlemont. We can have a private room all to ourselves.”
He smiled at the prospect of having her alone like that. He could only imagine the possibilities. It didn’t matter though. He could wait forever, as long as he knew she would be there when the wait was over.